Redux
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "Do you know what it feels like?" Sam shouts, a tear snaking down his cheek. "To watch the person you care about most die and there's nothing you can do about it?" Silence. Then, finally, "Yeah, Sammy. I do." *Mystery Spot fic, one-shot, trigger warning for suicidal thoughts*


_**Author's Note: **__Someone stop me. This is yet another Mystery Spot fic! Jeez, I adore that episode way too much. So, anyways, this was written for the following prompt, "During the time loop, for about a week, Sam goes kind of catatonic. Dean can't get much out of him, and of course he doesn't know what's going on with each new day. But Sam is so very tired, and he can't do anything to stop the time loop." Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_When things go wrong, don't go with them." _

― _Elvis Presley_

* * *

Sam wakes up every morning determined to save his brother from a bloody fate.

Every day, he fails and is forced to see Dean die some horrible—and in certain cases, somewhat grimly humorous—death and that's when it hits him, he's powerless to stop it.

That's when it starts all over again.

Sam forces himself to keep moving, to keep clinging to that ragged shred of hope, the one that whispers in his mind that he can get out, that he can save Dean and that this will be nothing more than a bad dream afterwards. But hope is a fickle friend and as the days dissolve into weeks and then months, that piece of hope is nearly gone, buried under the permanent ache that's settled in his heart.

On day 195, Sam decides there's no point anymore.

He gives up.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam is sick of hearing that, of listening to that cheerful tone in his big brother's voice, of listening to the thud of his boots on the mattress, of that damned song blasting from the radio.

The youngest Winchester opens his eyes, blinks a few times but makes no move to get up. There's really no point in it, he deduces. Nothing he's done has saved Dean and quite frankly, he's out of ideas. He's torn apart the Mystery Spot—Dean died five times in that process—and scoured practically every edge of this blasted town. Nothing he's done has changed anything.

So, really, what's the point?

Nothing, he deduces.

Nothing at all.

"Sammy?" Dean's concerned visage swims into view, his warm hand resting on Sam's shoulder. "You plan on getting up anytime soon?"

Why would he get up if Dean will just die? What's the point of that?

"Sam?" Dean prods again, tone filled with an undercurrent of fear. "Dude, the whole strong and silent type thing, gotta say, it's not working for you." Then, seriously, he adds, "What's wrong with you?"

"You're going to die today." He finally manages to say, barely above a whisper.

Dean's eyes go comically wide and if Sam wasn't so tired, he might've laughed. As it stands though, this is the third time he's attempted to explain the situation to Dean and so far, it never seemed to make a difference.

"Did you have a vision?" Dean presses, voice urgent and laced with worry.

Sam shakes his head.

"Then, how—?"

"We're in a time loop." He replies quietly.

"What?" Dean echoes, perplexed. "That doesn't make any sense—"

Sam just sighs and his older brother seems to reconsider his response.

"Sam?" He pulls the youngest Winchester into a sitting position, eyes locking onto his brother's. With a reassuring smile—one that reminds Sam of nights during storms, of moments gone wrong on hunts when all he had needed to stay calm was his brother by his side—Dean lowers his voice. "Sam, what aren't you telling me?"

Everything, he thinks.

"It's nothing." He says instead.

"Sam—" Dean rises from the bed and steps on his untied shoelace. He loses his balance and before Sam can even call out a warning, his older brother's head collides with the wooden bedside table. There's a sickening crack and Sam gets a nice glimpse of his brother's fractured skull before—

* * *

_It was the heat of the moment. _

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam's response is to just pull the sheets over his head and wait for it all to be over.

Doing nothing is surprisingly liberating.

He doesn't bother to explain what's going on to Dean—there's no point anyways; Dean can't help—and he just lies in bed and stares upwards at the popcorn ceiling. Part of him does feel bad for causing his brother to worry, but really, doing nothing spares him from the crushing blow that sucker punches him the moment one of his plans to get out of the time loop goes up in smoke.

"Sam, talk to me." Dean pleads, his hands locked on Sam's shoulders, eyes wide and worried. "Sammy, you're scaring me."

Sam can't stop the twisted smirk from alighting on his face because really, Dean never gets to be scared since he never knows what's coming every day. Sam, on the other hand, he has to deal with the burden of that knowledge. He's the one who has to suffer through watching his brother die day after day after day.

"Sam!" Dean snaps and it reminds him of their father, of how that tone could cut through anything and command attention. "Just, hold on, okay?" Dean reaches for his cellphone, still plugged into the outlet. "I'm calling for help—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Dean's body jerk as the smell of burnt wiring reaches his nostrils and he almost laughs because this has happened before and maybe the wiring in this building is—

* * *

_It was the heat of the moment._

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam just wants to cry.

* * *

"Alright," Dean says with a sigh, his fork clanging against his plate. "I'll bite." His brother's eyes lock onto his. "What's wrong?"

"Hmmm?" Sam pushes around his scrambled eggs distractedly on his plate, his gaze downcast.

"You've barely said a word all morning." Dean points out, exasperated.

Around them, the diner moves about in the same established pattern that Sam's memorized. In this same booth, he's seen Dean choke from nearly every item on the menu and somehow manage to stab himself with a butter knife. It amazes the youngest Winchester; however, how easily he's become desensitized to seeing his brother perish. After the first 50 times, it was almost as if it became easier to bear.

Then again, that may have been because his heart had broken too many times to bother to put itself back together.

"Sam!" Dean snaps and instantly, the youngest Winchester snaps to attention. His older brother runs a hand through his hair, sighing raggedly. "What is going on with you?"

"Nothing." He mutters, forcing himself to take a bite of his eggs, despite his lack of hunger. He stopped eating weeks ago—the time loop seemed to reset that as well—but the exhaustion is starting to catch up to him. His mind is in a perpetual fog and he can't seem to force himself to care about anything anymore really.

Seeing your brother die over and over and being helpless to stop it could do that to you, Sam supposes.

"Liar." Dean retorts, voice teetering on the edge of anger. "Sam, you seem to have woken up without the will to go—"

Dean never gets to finish his sentence though for the tray that the waitress is carrying tumbles down onto his head; glass shattering and burying itself into his head and Sam wonders how long he will go until—

* * *

_It was the heat of the moment. _

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam keeps his eyes closed, willing his heart to stop.

It never does though.

* * *

Sam thinks about killing himself.

Thinks about placing the gun to his head, feeling the smooth, cool metal against his temple, about pulling the trigger and maybe breaking out of this time loop. He can't keep going on like this, barely living, barely functioning.

If there is a way to break out of here and save Dean, then he has to take it, right?

So, with the few moments of time he's bought—three minutes, 45 seconds that Dean will stay alive before the vending machine crushes him—he digs out his gun and shuts his eyes shut, finger tensing on the trigger.

This is the end.

"Sammy?"

His eyes fly open and in the doorway, there stands Dean, mouth agape, eyes wide open with panic.

"Dean." He breathes, emotion starting to surge within him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. "Dean, I—"

"Put the gun down." Dean whispers, as if he's afraid that raising his voice will cause Sam to accidentally pull the trigger. "Sam, please—"

"I have to do this." Sam informs him, voice even and calm. He doesn't have time to explain this to his brother who will never understand. He's lost hope of solving the loop on his own and if he does this and it breaks them out, then it's all worth it. He's willing to risk his life to end this nightmare.

"Do what, Sam?" Dean asks, voice broken, eyes misting with unshed tears. His brother's calloused hands reach out, but he pulls back at the last second, as if he can't trust himself to be careful. "Kill yourself?"

"If I had time to explain it to you—"

"Make time!" Dean snaps, practically growling. Then, seeing Sam nearly jump, he curses under his breath and takes a slow breath in. Releasing it raggedly, he adds, "What's wrong, Sam? Is it the deal?" His voice borders on desperation. "Did I do something? Yesterday, you were fine and today, it's like you woke up—"

"Dean, it's not you." Sam insists, lowering the gun a fraction of an inch. "I just can't save you."

"Save me?" Dean's brow furrows in confusion. "From the deal? Sam, you—"

"From the loop, Dean!" He nearly shouts. "I've watched you die too many times to count and you know what? Nothing I did mattered! I couldn't save you."

"Loop?" Dean echoes. "Sam, what are you—?"

"Do you know what it feels like?" A tear snakes down his cheek. "To watch the person you care about most die and there's not a damn thing you can do about it?"

There's a brief silence and Dean clears his throat, emotion thick in his voice.

"Yeah, Sammy, I do."

And meeting his gaze, it hits the youngest Winchester—Cold Oak.

They had never talked about that night. Dean had never been keen on sharing any details and Sam couldn't remember anything after seeing Dean across the road, but after entering this time loop, he could only picture too well how Dean felt that night.

Because losing Dean? It had put everything in perspective. Their stupid arguments, they didn't matter. Having his big brother by his side, being a smart-ass, joking, singing and helping him—that's what counted to Sam. That's what he needed to protect at all costs.

That's why he was doing this.

"Dean, you'll understand." Sam states gently.

"I don't know why you given up." Dean tells him quickly, taking a cautionary step towards his younger sibling. "But let me remind you, you're a Winchester." Blazing green eyes lock onto his. "We don't give up, Sam. We don't know how." He smiles softly. "We're too damn stubborn to give up, you hear me?"

"Dean." Sam sighs, hesitating.

"Put the gun down, Sammy." Dean begs and it takes Sam aback because his older brother has never begged him for anything before. He's never seen that sheer desperation in his eyes before, not even when their father died.

"I can't lose you." Sam confesses, voice cracking.

Dean reaches out and pries the gun out of his grip.

"You won't." He assures him. "You'll figure something out." He smirks. "You're too smart not to, right?"

Sam doesn't even know why, but he begins to laugh, his whole body shaking as the suppressed emotions roll through him. He feels a pair of strong arms wrap around him the familiar feel of his brother surrounding him. These arms have held him whenever he felt like he'd been breaking apart, when were bullies picking on him, when John was being hard on him and through so many other countless crisis.

His brother is his solace in this fucked up world.

"It's you and me against the world, Sammy." Dean whispers raggedly. "Don't you ever forget that."

And when Dean dies twenty minutes later, it's this moment that he remembers.

It's that moment that gives him strength.

* * *

_It was the heat of the moment._

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sunlight pours in through the window and Sam blinks a few times before pulling himself out of bed. He feels reinvigorated and he's determined to make it out today. He won't give up—refuses to give up—because he isn't a quitter and he won't ever give up on saving his brother.

Today, it will be the day.

"You look happy." Dean comments absently as he laces up his shoes. "Good dream?"

"You can say that." Sam dismisses vaguely.

"Care to share with the class, Sammy?" Dean prods, curious, and Sam shakes his head.

"Ask me tomorrow."

Dean arches an eyebrow.

"Why tomorrow?" He questions.

Sam just smiles, relieved to have even this moment with his brother.

"You'll find out."

And that shred of hope he'd been clinging to returns the moment he sees his brother's cocky grin.

"Yeah, whatever, bitch."

"Jerk." Sam returns immediately.

Dean just laughs.

And life goes on.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


End file.
